ylan learned something that night.

He discovered how difficult it was to carry a woman up a cliff when he had an erection. Her breasts kept bobbing against his bare chest, and her head was wedged under his chin. Her wet body was plastered to his. Torture, every step was sweet torture.

She had wrapped her legs around his waist to keep from sliding, her ankles locked together behind his back.

Under normal circumstances, he would have enjoyed her stranglehold on his private region. But it was bone-numbing cold, and he was, after all, ascending a precarious path carved into a cliff in total darkness.

He plunked her down amid the brambles and twisted elms outside the house. She was an adorable mess. "Do you want me to run in and get you a cloak to cover you up before anyone see us?"

Sydney clenched her chattering teeth together. "N-no. T-too cold."

"Oh, Sydney," he said. Then he kissed her again because he didn't know when he'd have another chance. He kissed her until neither of them felt the bitter wind blowing through the garden. He rubbed his large hands possessively down her back, over her breasts and her soft little bottom, and Sydney didn't even try to stop him because she was a lump of melting ice and his touch was bringing her back to life.

A low chuckle of victory escaped him. The reluctant grin on her face reassured him again that she felt the same way he did, that she knew they were made for each other. She'd been washed up on his beach by a power stronger than either of them could fight.

And he would fight to keep her.

He just didn't realize the chance would come as soon as it did.

There was no one in the house. The Chynoweths had presumably been standing on the cliff with the others to watch the rescue and probably everyone was still there talking about it and embellishing the story.

Sydney said a silent prayer of gratitude to be spared the embarrassment of parading through the hallway like Adam and Eve. She couldn't imagine how she'd explain this to Peter—or to her parents, for that matter.

She ran upstairs to hide. Rylan made a detour into the kitchen for a few meat pasties, a bottle of brandy, and a huge apple pie.

He burst into the bedroom a minute after Sydney did, humming in good humor. He kicked the door shut behind him, locked it, and laid his feast on the night-stand.

He was grinning from ear to ear, obviously delighted with the way everything had turned out. At least Sydney assumed he was grinning. She couldn't tell for sure because she was hiding under the covers.

"Hungry?" he said.

Rylan peeled the covers from her clenched fingers. She was right about the grin. The good-looking devil obviously thought almost drowning was an experience to laugh about.

"Rylan, you're going to catch your death. You're still in your drawers."

"I know." He winked at her. "But I really don't see any point in getting dressed." Then he gathered Sydney in his arms and kissed her, his powerful arms bracketing her body as he began the complicated process of lowering her inhibitions.

Sydney sank into the quilt. His kiss was so deep and intimate that she couldn't defend herself. He drew her lower lip between his teeth, biting gently. Her whole body softened, and a melting sensation swirled in her stomach. His mouth plundered hers until she felt like she was drowning all over again. Only this time Rylan wouldn't save her; he was dead set on ruining her.

"Oh, Sydney." His husky voice was the most arousing sound she had ever heard. "I knew I would make you mine the moment I saw you at the cove."

"Don't say that, Rylan," she whispered.

He rubbed his palm over her breast, squeezing the pink tip between his thumb and finger. It puckered at his touch. "Why not?"

"Because—oh, just kiss me again."

Rylan didn't need to be asked twice. He took her face in his hands, and his mouth claimed hers, tasting her sweet little sigh of surrender. Kissing was only a prelude to what he wanted. It only whet his appetite for more. He thrust his tongue against hers. He needed to be inside her, the deeper the better.

He released a groan into her mouth and wedged his knee between her long white legs. She shuddered at the contact, realizing how vulnerable she was. He slipped his hands under her bottom and molded her body to his, whispering, "That's better. Oh, God, Sydney," he said thickly. "I have to feel you against me. I can't get close enough."

They fit together so well. Sydney waited and wondered why she didn't give way to panic.

"Don't do that, Rylan," she whispered, twisting upward into him.

"Why not?" he said hoarsely.

"Because it feels too good."

He chuckled. "I know what feels even better."

"Rylan."

He moved his mouth down her arched throat to her breasts. He suckled on one nipple through her silk chemise, drawing the peak between his teeth. Sydney's breath caught on a sob. And when he began to move his mouth down to her belly to the cleft between her legs to taste her, she couldn't find the strength to breathe at all. She shook and felt sensations too intense to fight. She was powerless to stop him.

"Sydney?" He raised his face appealingly to hers. The raw sexuality in his deep blue eyes ravaged her to the core. He knew that she would let him do anything now he wished. "Isn't this nice?"

She stifled a whimper. She was trembling too much to talk, she could barely think, and her flesh was throbbing where his tongue had teased her. A door slammed downstairs. She could hear the Chynoweths in the kitchen, and Sydney knew that she would be a thoroughly ruined woman when she saw them again.

"Let me eat you, Sydney." His smile was both angelic and sinful. "Please."

She would probably faint of shame before the night ended… if she didn't faint of pleasure first.

She closed her eyes, groaning. "Go away, Rylan."

"I can't go away." He traced his forefinger down into the slit of her pantalettes, probing the folds of her flesh. His finger slid into her damp crevice. Her belly quivered in response. "This is my house."

"Then leave the room," she said, biting her lip to keep from whimpering again, which would only end up encouraging him.

"I can't do that either. I don't have anything on except my drawers. My housekeeper is a decent woman."

"So was I until I came here." She sat up with a moan of remorse. "And I'm an engaged woman. In fact, I'm still wearing Peter's ring—a priceless family heirloom."

Rylan reached up for her hand, lightly tugging at her finger. The ring came off. He flicked it in the air and it went flying out the window, landing with a loud plink in the rocks below. He grinned in surprise. "Oh, dear. Look what happened."

His arrogance amazed her. "That was my betrothal ring."

His white teeth nipped her thigh. His tongue quickly soothed the stinging bites he left behind. Sydney clutched his shoulders, pressing the soles of her feet into the bed. "The ring didn't fit you, or it wouldn't have come off like that," he said with a matter-of-fact smile. "Mine will be there to stay. Forever."

He lowered his head. Sydney's moan of self-pity was cut short by the muted clamor of bells ringing across the cliffs.

It was a frantic, wild sound, a warning in the wind.

"What is that?" she whispered.

Rylan looked up to the window, but he didn't loosen his possessive hold on her hips. His eyes were glazed with pleasure. His expression said he didn't give a damn what happened beyond this bed.

"Just another unwary outlander being led to ruination," he murmured, his mind on other, more interesting matters.

"Another shipwreck?" Sydney's eyes widened. "Aren't you going to take action?"

"I will if you'll hold still long enough."

She wriggled off the bed and ran to the window to look outside. Rylan sighed, reaching for the bottle of brandy. His body pulsated with arousal, but it looked as if he still had a little work to do before he wore down her defenses.

"It's too dark to see if there's a ship in distress," she said. She paused, deep in thought. She looked delicious with her long hair drying in serpentine curls over her scantily clad body. Rylan ground his teeth to keep from dragging her back on the bed. He could smell her on his skin and on his sheets.

She sighed. "I suppose the best thing to do is to be honest with Peter. I'll beg his forgiveness."

Rylan frowned, lowering the bottle from his mouth. The only begging she would do was to him, tonight. "Like hell you will. Do you really think that I brought you to my bed so that a snake could have you afterward? I don't even want to hear you say his name again."

She looked at him over her shoulder. "How did I get myself in this mess?"

"Come back to bed, Sydney," he said, rising to draw her back against his broad chest. He began to massage her neck with his hands. There was magic in his touch, and she responded to it.

"I'll join a nunnery," she thought aloud. "Do they take ruined Protestants into convents nowadays?"

He ran his bare foot up and down the inside of her calf. The friction made her feel faint. His long fingers circled her belly button, tickling her and teasing. Sydney couldn't hold out much longer.

She began to shake. The bells were pealing wildly now. She wondered if they were prophesying her downfall, which appeared to be imminent. "I'll throw myself at the Mother Superior's mercy. I'll say I was seduced by the devil—"

He walked her backward into the bed. She fell straight back and he followed, pinning her down beneath him. His eyes glittered in the dark, proclaiming victory.

"You'll have to put some clothes on first," he whispered, blowing in her ear. "You can't go to a nunnery naked."

Sydney blinked. "That's a good point."

Naked or not, she wasn't going anywhere at all, he thought arrogantly. But women needed soothing at a time like this. They needed gentling.

"Poor Sydney," he said. "I'll make everything all right. I'll take care of you."

She closed her eyes. They were both exhausted from fighting the storm.

Rylan glanced at the pendulum clock on the night-stand. Almost eleven. He doubted that the ghost-layers would meet tomorrow on the moor. The storm would probably keep them away.

The damn bells were still ringing, though. He frowned, watching the wind stir the curtains. He ought to investigate, but he couldn't tear himself away from the bed. He wouldn't leave until Sydney was bonded to him in every way, and she was so close to trusting him.

He lowered himself next to her and wrapped her securely in his arms. "You probably shouldn't touch me again," she whispered. "Not if I'm going to become a nun."

"You're not," he said, smiling at the thought.

A soft knock sounded at the door.

Sydney gasped and opened her eyes in alarm. Rylan kept her locked firmly in place.

"My lord?" It was the housekeeper. "Is all well with you? Do you want tea and towels?"

"What do we do?" Sydney whispered.

"Pretend to be asleep." Rylan gave a loud unconvincing snore.

"This is so embarrassing," Sydney whispered, staring at the door.

There was a long pause.

"Shall I launder the clothes you dropped on the kitchen floor, my lord?" the housekeeper asked in a curt voice that told them she knew exactly what was going on in that room.

Sydney smothered a snort of laughter. "She knows," she whispered. "You'd better leave right now."

Rylan grinned, refusing to move. He was silent as the housekeeper finally walked away, obviously resigned to the situation.

Rylan didn't intend to leave, and he didn't want anybody to intrude on what he had just found. God help him, he wanted to keep Sydney to himself as long as he could.

This lonely, wind-swept cove was his retreat from the world. So was the woman who had been brought to him. He had everything he needed now to be happy.

For three more hours he was in heaven. He made love to Sydney with words and with his hands and mouth. He kissed every inch of her body until there wasn't a nerve ending beneath her skin that didn't respond to his sensual expertise.

He rubbed his unshaven cheeks across her breasts like a caress. He explored the secret places of her body without inhibition, preparing her for pleasure.

"I'll never be a nun now," Sydney said with a sigh.

"No." Rylan pinned her down and spread her legs wide, his own body so ready he hurt with it. "But you'll be my wife, and I'll take you naked and ruined any time you ask."

Then he lowered himself between her legs, and the matter was taken out of her hands. There was nothing but the power of his body and the sexual initiation he showed her. There was nothing but a rush of sweet pain as he embedded himself inside her, piercing so deeply that for a moment a red haze filled her mind and stole her breath. Then slowly it eased.

He kissed her face, murmuring tenderly. He laid his cheek against hers and told her how sorry he was that he'd hurt her. Then Sydney dared run her fingers up his chest, tracing the iron-hard muscles that tightened at her touch. He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, moving inside her again, deep sensual strokes that pressed her into the bed. For a moment Sydney felt as if he would impale her with his shaft. He was big, and she felt herself stretching to accept him. Her back arched before she could stop the instinct. He raised his head, growling in approval, past listening to anything she might have said.

He slid his hands under her bottom, forcing their bodies even closer together. He ground his mouth down on hers and tasted the groan she gave. In a hazy corner of his brain he knew he must be hurting her again. But he couldn't control the pumping of his hips any more than he could control the waves that pounded the cove.

He was driven to possess her, and he'd never felt anything as good as her tight little body in his life. She was shaking and laughing and sobbing, but he didn't stop. He just moved slower. He sank inside and pulled away, setting a pattern that left her whimpering with pleasure. He teased her like this until she stiffened, and then convulsed in a climax that was the most sensual act Rylan had ever seen.

"Oh, my God, Sydney." He grinned in triumph; he felt every spasm that rocked her. Her response drew him over the edge; he too was falling, ready to explode. He was trembling and pushing inside her, not able to bury himself deep enough. He was thrusting and groaning like a man possessed.

His orgasm shook him to the core. He pumped and pumped, compelled by a force so powerful he knew he would frighten her. But it was Sydney who had unleashed the beautiful fury. It was sweet innocent Sydney who had shown him that every sexual encounter he'd ever experienced before had been a shadow, a charade, compared to this.

Sydney listened to the waves crashing outside the window. She heard the deep, satiated rhythm of Rylan's breathing. She felt the heavy warmth of his leg locked over hers. He didn't want her to forget, even in his sleep, that she belonged to him. Not that she could. There wasn't any inch of her body that didn't bear his brand.

The bells outside had just stopped ringing.

Some poor soul had probably been washed ashore to ruination.

And Sydney had just been rescued from marriage to a man she did not love and who, evidently, had never loved her.

She touched Rylan's face, snuggling against his muscular chest, her solace and seductor.

It had taken the first shipwreck to bring her to the man of her dreams.

The second shipwreck had brought her to her senses.